


The day we met the Doctor

by Tereshkova (EarthboundCosmonaut)



Series: Occasional flashes of competence [4]
Category: The Thick of It (TV)
Genre: Christmas, David Tennant - Freeform, Father Christmas - Freeform, Gen, Gratuitous Doctor Who references, Malcolm needs childcare advice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-21
Updated: 2017-12-21
Packaged: 2019-02-16 19:26:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13060587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EarthboundCosmonaut/pseuds/Tereshkova
Summary: "I could be a goodie," Malcolm informs her with a glare. "In another reality, where I don't have to do this job, I'm probably running around saving the universe."Nicola looks dubious, but is saved from answering by a child launching herself at his leg. "Uncle Malcolm!"Malcolm inwardly groans. Christ, he had been trying to avoid this moment."Uncle Malcolm?" asks Nicola with a smirk.In which Malcolm and Nicola attend the Downing Street children's Christmas party. Rated T for canon-typical language -despite the presence of impressionable children.





	The day we met the Doctor

**Author's Note:**

> When I discovered that 10 Downing Street has an annual children's Christmas party I thought it was the perfect opportunity to introduce Malcolm's niece. My pop culture research assumes that this particular party took place in 2009, which was around the time that season 3 was first broadcast.

"Malcolm, please."

Malcolm stares up from the press release he is re-writing. "For fuck's sake, are you still here?"

"I'm staying here until you say 'yes'." Nicola plants herself in the chair on the other side of his desk for emphasis.

"Do I look like I give a shit about it? Go and ask Tom."

"I asked Tom. He says he hates kids and he wants as little to do with it as possible. He said to ask you."

Malcolm sighs and puts his pen down. The red one Sam bought him for his birthday that makes it look as though he has written his comments in blood. "And what makes yeh think I'd let you go to the Number 10 children's Christmas party after wha' happened at that nativity play last week?"

Nicola shrugs. "Malcolm, it was an entire nativity play set to the songs of Dolly Parton. Mary was wearing a blonde wig and Joseph had a coat of many colours. I think I handled it pretty well, all things considered."

"You laughed so hard yeh had to leave the room. And when the press interviewed yeh afterwards the only thing you could get out was 'the children have obviously been working 9-5 rehearsing'."

Nicola's struggling to keep a straight face even recalling the event. Malcolm finds himself thinking that her childish amusement is quite sweet. And then he finds himself feeling irritated because she's not sweet at all, she's a complete liability and the fact that the thought even crosses his mind is a perfect illustration of her ability to corrupt everything that she touches.

"No one could have kept a straight face through that! The woman next to me was practically wetting herself. At least I got photographed smiling for once."

"It looked like you were sneering Nic'la. Looking down on all the little fuckers from the state school who now think that ' _I will always love you'_ is a fuckin’ hymn."

"It was _my_ _children's_ school! My children _are_ those poor fuckers. And anyway, there aren't going to be any Dolly Parton songs at the Number 10 party. It's David Tennant this year. David Tennant, Malcolm! _Doctor Who!_ You do the zeitgeist thing, you must know how much it would mean to my kids to get an invitation. They'd think I was the best Mum ever."

Malcolm arches an eyebrow at her. "It'll take more than taking them to see a skinny numpty with a sonic screwdriver to make your kids think yer a good mum."

She switches tack. "Surely you owe me this after the way you've fucked up Ella's schooling?"

"Me!?” He can’t believe she’s brought this up again. Does she really think rehashing this argument is going to persuade him to do anything? “I gave you a _choice_ between Rugger Bugger's job and tweenage dirtbag's public school place."

Nicola’s voice rises shrilly. "A choice between my family's financial security and my daughter's education. Some choice that was!" She stops herself, taking a deep breath and pressing her palms together. "Anyway," she continues more calmly. "We've discussed that before. Let's get back to the Christmas party."

Malcolm groans and rubs his hands through his hair. "Yeh can't take four children to the Christmas party, Nic'la. The places are supposed to go to deserving kids, it'd look like nepotism." Plus by all accounts the teenage daughter, Katie, is going through a stroppy emo phase and tweeny Ella the playground bully has a mouth almost as dirty as Malcolm's. He doesn’t want to let them within a hundred metres of the general public, let alone a journalist.

"I don't need four places. The older girls are going to see Beyoncé at the O2, it'd just be Josh and Tilly."

Malcolm's met Josh in the flesh before. He seems like a fairly normal five year old. And Tilly's so inoffensive that this is the first time he's ever actually heard her referred to by name.

"Please," Nicola presses. "We can help out. They can - I don't know - dress up as elves and help Father Christmas. Or hand round Hula Hoops and Party Rings. Just give them a chance to be in the same room as Doctor Who."

She sounds practically like a child herself, bargaining with a parent for a treat. He knows she'll get that kicked puppy look if he says 'No'. Maybe - his stomach clenches at this prospect - she'll even cry and tell him all about what a shit mum she is. _Again_. He sighs. "You can have invitations on one condition."

"Name it, anything," she says, clapping her hands together delightedly.

"You," he points at her for emphasis, "wear something fuckin' _normal_. No Christmas jumpers or novelty earrings. Just - just something a normal human being would be seen dead in."

She nods, practically bouncing up and down in her chair. "I will, I promise. You won't regret it, I swear!"

"I'm already regrettin' it, darlin'. Get out before I change my mind."

Nicola leaves, grinning like a child. He hears a few lines of ' _Let it snow_ ' drifting down the corridor behind her.

***

Number 10 is a heaving sea of excited children and their star struck parents and guardians. The baseline volume had been set when Tom and the child who had designed the PM's Christmas card for the year (a startlingly ugly depiction of Tom riding on the top of a red London bus dressed as Santa Claus) had turned on the Christmas lights. Since then, the volume and pitch of noise has been steadily increasing. Malcolm wants to tear out his own kidneys and shove them in his ears to block out the sound.

He stations himself in the corner of the entrance hall with a plastic cup of orange squash. The only advantage of the Number 10 children's party is that it has never yet created a PR disaster. He's just there to make sure that the journalists behave themselves and don't go ambushing MPs with off topic questions. And generally the journalists are so dizzy with the opportunity to mingle with the celebrity guests and get drunk on free mulled wine that they don't bother.

Nicola weaves her way towards him, holding the hands of her two youngest. She has, thank God, more or less heeded his request about her outfit. She's wearing burgundy wrap dress and knee boots. It's flattering. Very flattering in fact, he notes as he takes in the way the dress narrows her waist and drapes enticingly over her hips. And the way that there is a tantalising few inches of leg showing between the top of her boots and the hem of the skirt. _For fuck's sake_ , he chastises himself. _It's been too long if yer starting to perv on Frumpy McGrumpy._

Nicola is too busy looking at her children to have noticed that his eyes have definitely not been watching her face. "Tilly, Josh, this is Mr Tucker."

"Hello Mr Tucker," they chant in unison. They look like they've come straight out of the pages of a Mini-Boden catalogue. Tilly is wearing a Fair Isle jumper and a corduroy skirt, Josh a pair of chinos and a blue shirt. Both have a sweet, wholesome look that they definitely haven't inherited from their dipshit father.

"Do you have something to say to Mr Tucker?" Nicola prompts.

"Thank you for inviting us to the party," says Tilly.

"Thank you for having us," echoes Josh.

Nicola is grinning like a fucking lunatic. Whether it's pride at her offspring or excitement at being there he's not sure.

"Yeah, well that's okay," he mumbles. "As long as yer good." He finds it acutely awkward talking to other people's children. He never knows what to say to them, and he has to constantly hold himself back from swearing.

"We will," promises Tilly earnestly.

Josh is tugging on Nicola's hand. "Mum, Mum, he _does_ look like that man. I _told_ you!"

"Not now Josh," Nicola chides, her neck tinged with pink.

"What man?" asks Malcolm.

"It's nothing," says Nicola.

"The man from Doctor Who," explains Tilly. "The one in the episode about the Romans."

Malcolm raises an eyebrow. "Oh really? Is he a goodie or a baddie?"

"Goodie."

"So you see there's no resemblance at all," supplements Nicola.

"I could be a goodie," Malcolm informs her with a glare. "In another reality, where I don't have to do this job, I'm probably running around saving the universe."

Nicola looks dubious, but is saved from answering by a child launching herself at his leg. "Uncle Malcolm!"

Malcolm inwardly groans. Christ, he had been trying to avoid this moment.

"Uncle Malcolm?" asks Nicola with a smirk.

"Aye, this is my niece Cecily. Cecily, this is Mrs Murray."

"Hi," says Cecily, showing none of the well-schooled manners that Nicola's children had displayed. Malcolm mentally curses his sister for raising a feral child.

"Have you come dressed as Doctor Who?" asks Nicola, taking in Cecily's jacket, tie and Converse trainers.

"Aye, I've got a sonic screwdriver too," Cecily tells her, pulling the toy out of her pocket.

"Cool!" exclaims Josh. "Can I have a go?"

"No," Cecily pulls the toy away from Josh's reach. "But you can have a look."

Nicola leans in and lowers her voice so that the children can't hear properly. "Can't show nepotism, eh Malcolm?"

"People in fuckin' glass houses Nic'la," he warns her.

"Uncle Malcolm, Doctor Who's arrived!" Cecily informs him once she's sure that Josh isn't going to try and play with her toy.

Indeed, Malcolm can see a mass of children swarming towards the room that David Tennant has, presumably, just entered. The noise level has reached a frequency that would make dogs bark. The very thought of going in there is making his ears bleed.

"Can we go and see him," asks Tilly, looking as excited as Cecily.

"Pleeeaase," adds Josh for good measure.

Nicola looks as unenthusiastic as Malcolm about trying to elbow her way into that room right at this moment. She, however, has significantly more experience of negotiating with small children. "Look," she says, pointing in the other direction. "There's hardly anyone in Santa's grotto. Why don't we go there first, while it's quiet, and then we can go and see Doctor Who."

Nicola's children look uncertain.

"I heard that Santa's got another party to go to after this," she presses. "You don't want to miss him."

Tilly and Josh weigh this up, conferring with each other in some detail, and decide that it's a sensible approach. The risk of missing out on a present seems to tip the scales. Nicola regards Malcolm for the moment, as if considering whether to throw him a life belt or leave him to drown. Eventually she turns to Cecily and asks "Would you like to come with us too, Cecily?" Malcolm's not sure whether she's decided to let him sink or swim.

***

And so it is that Malcolm and his niece spend the Number 10 children's party in the company of Nicola Murray and her two youngest hellions. It's not as bad as he would have feared. Being around her children seems to bring out the normal person in Nicola, rather than the gibbering wreck he usually sees at work, and Nicola's children are surprisingly well adjusted given that they have been raised by an absent father and a certifiably insane mother. Their nanny, he concludes, must be some kind of digital age Mary Poppins.

"Is Cecily staying with you?" asks Nicola as they watch the three children queue to meet Father Christmas.

He feels uncomfortable discussing his personal life with a colleague. He likes to maintain an air of mystique at work. The less they know about you, the more they shit themselves imagining that you spend your time off torturing small animals and researching ways to disembowel incompetent politicians, he's found. But Nicola's already met Cecily and saved him from having to press through a sea of screaming children to meet David Tennant, so he supposes there's nothing to be lost by answering her. "Aye, for the weekend. My sister's coming to pick her up on Sunday."

Nicola looks at him appraisingly. "Have you ever looked after her for that long before?"

"No," Malcolm admits as Cecily elbows her way ahead of Josh and Tilly in the queue. Malcolm had realised he'd bitten off more than he could chew the moment Cecily had arrived and announced that she didn't like any of the food he had in, so they'd have to go to Nandos for tea. He enjoyed spending time with her when he visited his sister, but looking after her alone was another kettle of fish entirely. It turns out a six year old girl can wrap Malcolm Tucker, who makes a living browbeating grown men and women into doing his will, around her little finger.

"What have you got planned for tomorrow?" Nicola asks him, recognising his predicament.

"I thought maybe a visit to Hamleys."

She pulls a face.

"Not good?"

"It'll be a fucking mad house at this time of year," she says in a low voice. "I couldn't manage without punching someone - probably someone else's snotty, screaming child - and I'm far more patient than you. You need things to keep her engaged. Maybe the Science Museum - it's very interactive. Then a runabout in the park followed by the cinema. With any luck she'll have worked off enough energy by then to fall asleep."

Malcolm nods. They're quite sensible suggestions.

"I've spent the last sixteen years raising children," Nicola reminds him. "I've learnt a few things along the way."

"If only yeh could say the same for yer political career," mutters Malcolm.

The children reach the front of the queue and Nicola goes to take photographs of them with Father Christmas.

***

As predicted, the crowd in the main room has thinned out by the time they go looking for David Tennant. Their government passes allow them to bypass the worst of the crowds. Cecily is bouncing up and down so hard she's practically yanking Malcolm's hand off, and Nicola's children are only marginally less exuberant.

"Doctor!" Cecily yells when they are close enough, cutting short the poor man's conversation with the PM's wife. With the patience of a saint, David Tennant allows the children to bounce around him, answering their insistent questions about where the TARDIS is, why he doesn't have his sonic screwdriver and whether it hurt when he regenerated.

Nicola places a steadying hand on Josh's shoulder to stop him from bear-hugging the actor, and offers him her right hand. "Nicola Murray. Sorry about the full frontal assault - the kids have been very excited about meeting you."

She giggles - actually giggles - as he shakes her hand. Malcolm looks at her and realises she is blushing. Nicola Murray, it seems, has a massive crush on David Tennant. Oh, this knowledge will definitely come in handy at some point in the future.

Malcolm offers the man his hand. "Malcolm Tucker, Director of Communications. I hope you've been properly looked after."

"Oh aye, brilliantly," he reassures him.

"Would you mind if I got a picture of you with the children?" asks Nicola, her voice girlish. "They'd be thrilled."

"Of course."

The children cluster round him, Cecily brandishing her sonic screwdriver and Nicola's two staring up in delight when he crouches down and places a hand on each of their shoulders.

"Why don't I take a picture with you in as well, Nic'la?" asks Malcolm after she has taken a couple.

Nicola  shakes her head, blushing even harder. "Oh no, it's fine."

"Oh go on Mum," says Tilly.

"The more the merrier," David adds.

"Dad'll be _sooo_ jealous he missed out," Josh chips in.

Oddly, this seems to be the thing that convinces Nicola. "Well, okay then." She hands Malcolm her camera and moves to stand behind the children, fluffing her wild mess of hair with a fluttering hand.

"Ye'll have to bunch up a bit," Malcom tells her, "I can't get ye all in shot.

Nicola shuffles slightly closer and looks thrilled when David Tennant puts an arm around her, pulling her in to his side.

Malcolm takes a couple more photos. When he checks them on the camera's screen, he is pleased to note that he's captured this contingent of the Murray family at their best. Josh and Tilly are looking directly at the camera and grinning, and Nicola's face is illuminated by a radiant smile, accentuated by the slight flush that has crept into her cheeks. What's more, the contrast of David's shirt with her dress shows off her figure perfectly. _Dad'll be so jealous_ indeed, he thinks as he hands the camera back to Nicola.

As they head back to the atrium, Josh tugs on Nicola's skirt. "Mummy."

"What darling?"

"I don't think that was really Doctor Who."

Nicola stops and stares down at him. "Why not?"

"He was Scottish."

Nicola is wearing the flustered, panicky look she gets whenever a journalist asks a questions, which makes it painfully obvious that she hasn't got a clue how to answer.

Malcolm steps in. "Can Doctor Who not be Scottish?"

"Of course not," says Josh as if this is the most stupid suggestion he has ever heard.

Cecily puts her hands on her hips, pouting as though she's personally offended by this idea. Given that she herself is Scottish and speaks with a far thicker brogue than Malcolm, he suspects she is. "He's an alien," she points out. "He can speak how he wants."

"Maybe he was in disguise tonight," adds Nicola, recovering the power of speech.

Josh ponders this. "Do you think he's looking for Slitheen?"

Nicola meets Malcolm's eye with relief. "Probably."

Tilly looks thoughtful. "Do you think there are still Slitheen in Government, Mum?"

"Um, maybe."

Malcolm leans down so that he's at eye level with the kids. "Don't tell anyone," he says. "But there's an MP called Peter Mannion we think might be a Slitheen. Yer Mum's been keeping an eye on him."

"Wow, Mum!" exclaims Josh, looking seriously impressed.

"How do you know?" Cecily asks him.

"I'm the Director of Communications," Malcolm explains. "It's my job to tell UNIT what she finds out. But remember," he presses his finger to his lips, "it's a secret."

The children nod solemnly.

"Promise we won't say a word," agrees Tilly.

Nicola grins at him as he stands up. "You're just a big old softie really, aren't you Malcolm?"

Malcolm leans in very close to whisper in her ear. "I'm your worst fuckin' nightmare darlin', and if yeh ever start to think otherwise I will scatter you across the universe in so many pieces that the fuckin' TARDIS couldn't track them all down."

Nicola is still grinning when he steps back. "Merry Christmas to you too, Malcolm."

**Author's Note:**

> Lest you think it's too ridiculous to be plausible, one of my local primary schools set its nativity play entirely to the songs of Dolly Parton this year. Kudos to the teacher who wrote this spellbinding musical for his/her school of 6 pupils (it's on a very small island). If young children murdering classics by the Queen of Country is your thing, you can hear their recording of _Jolene_ [here](http://www.islandfm.com/win/christmas-carols/).


End file.
